


Therapy Session

by aeskis



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Someone Help Will Graham, Voyeurism, dubcon, noncon, trance/hypnosis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeskis/pseuds/aeskis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After some minutes, she pulled back to study him closely. “Will’s not … all here.” Abigail said, more to confirm than to ask. </p><p>Hannibal looked at her intently. “He will not remember this experience when he wakes. Not consciously, at least. But somewhere in the depths of his mind, he will know.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is so, so wrong. And unethical. And SO PWP, and OOC? I have no knowledge of how these things might work. Be aware! DUB-CON/NON-CON.

Abigail needed to talk to someone. She knew that person couldn’t be Alana Bloom, who would think she knew the answers, but wouldn’t. The natural recourse was Dr. Lecter, who had so generously allowed her to live with him in his elegant home. Dr. Lecter would understand. He understood everything.

She had lost everything the moment her Dad had received the mysterious phone call. Her parents, her world, friends, stability, nearly her life. Abigail had no one. She was helpless, and her awareness of the fact was maddening, crawling under her skin.

Well, she did have two people who genuinely cared about her. Dr. Lecter, and Will Graham. Doubtless Will took responsibility for his role in what had happened, prompting fatherly instincts to take hold, but somehow, she felt safe and comfortable with him. He would take care of her, spoil her, like any affectionate father.

But she didn’t think of Will as a father. Her Dad had been a steady and fond presence, but his love for her had been soured with the reality of him being a cannibalistic murderer who killed girls in her image. Instead, Will’s awkward, often fumbling attempts to please her amused her a little, as though he were a boy trying to woo her.

There was something … attractive about Will. His twitchy nervousness, and at times abrasive attitude toward others, made his kindness to her all the more touching. At night, as she lay in bed in one of Hannibal’s immaculate guest rooms, she would imagine that he did more than put his arms around her in a gesture of clumsy comfort. The scenarios were hotter than she’d admit, even to herself. 

Dr. Lecter was something else entirely; he was her god. She would do anything he desired.

Abigail started to knock on the door of Hannibal’s study, but his calm voice preempted her. “Come in.” She obeyed, but stopped short before entering, frozen into place by the scene before her.

 

Hannibal was angled backward on his armchair and holding Will, whose oversized jacket was pushed over his shoulders, shirt was rucked up to his armpits and jeans open to his knees. Will’s eyes were half-lidded, his movements languid as Hannibal placed his hands over Will’s to touch him with sure, steady strokes. Will’s head lolled heavily against Hannibal’s shoulder, his lips parted and his breath quickening. 

Other than that, the room was a disturbingly silent tableau. Abigail stared.

“You can touch him,” Hannibal said, watching her cheeks grow scarlet. 

Cautiously, Abigail came forward and took Will’s face in her hands, marveling at how remarkably fine his features were under the scruffy beard. She melted a kiss onto his red mouth, and then, tentatively, slipped a tongue into his mouth. Will made a soft sound and, dreamily, responded. His submissive acceptance, Abigail found, was unexpectedly arousing, and she could feel herself getting wet.

After some minutes, she pulled back to study him closely. Her heart hurt her a bit when Will, expression still vague, reached over to cup her chin tenderly and deepen the kiss. “Will’s not … all here.” Abigail said, more to confirm than to ask. 

Hannibal looked at her intently. “He will not remember this experience when he wakes. Not consciously, at least. But somewhere in the depths of his mind, he will know.”

“And that’s what you want,” Abigail said, considering. 

“Yes,” Hannibal smiled his enigmatic smile. “He will know who owns him, but not how, or why.”

At that point, as though he’d heard and comprehended the meaning of the words, Will stirred uneasily. His eyelids fluttered wildly as though he were trying to wake up from a nightmare.

“Will he be okay?” Abigail wanted to know, some feeling of guilt coiling in her gut and dampening her arousal. 

“He needs this, Abigail,” Hannibal told her quietly. “More than anything. Let us break him, slowly, before he shatters all at once.”

Will moaned incoherently as Hannibal’s left hand moved faster, and his right rubbed at Will’s nipples. Nodding, Abigail leaned forward and stroked his taut belly and heaving sides, brushing soothing kisses over his closed eyes and knitted brows.

When Will came, body strung tight and arched against Hannibal, inadvertently pressing himself into her hands, Abigail gazed at him He was breathtaking, in a way that other boys who she’d had sex with simply weren’t. Unconsciously, she lowered her head to bite at Will’s neck, but Hannibal stopped her. 

“Next time, you can ride him,” Hannibal told her. Abigail bit her lip at the image, and nodded again. “But careful not to leave marks, for now.”

With clinical precision, Hannibal wiped the effects of Will’s climax from his chest and stomach, and washed his hands. Meanwhile, without being instructed, Abigail held Will close as she rearranged his clothes to their usual loose configuration. 

Hannibal gently pried her off Will, and lifted his slumped form into his own arms. He walked over to the chair in which the latter had been sitting when their conversation had begun, and deposited the other man carefully into a sitting position.

As Abigail watched in fascination, Hannibal raised a hand in front of Will’s slack face, and snapped his fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning: more PWP wrongness that has nothing to do with how brilliant the actual show is. Like, really. Short PWP wrongnes, but still. T-T 
> 
> Thank you so much for your kind reviews; I'm freaked out by what I'm writing, and you guys keep me doing it. XD

Will Graham was being devoured. He lay naked on his side, Abigail Hobbes holding his hands to her bare breasts, encouraging him to caress her. She licked into his open mouth with teenage enthusiasm, and he found himself helplessly responding. 

He trembled with unknown apprehension, and behind him Hannibal Lecter was stroking his flanks and thighs to calm him. But he couldn’t be calmed, and when, after measured and generous preparation, Hannibal pushed into him, Will moaned with the inevitable pain as well as the feeling of violation. 

As the other man began to move, Will began to thrash, managing only to allow Hannibal to sink in deeper and hurt him more. Hannibal said something soothing, and moved to grip Will’s cock. Heat immediately coiled in his gut, and his hips jerked involuntarily, causing Abigail to gasp in pleasure as the motion caused him to rub against her. 

Hannibal moved inside him, and as he hit a place that somehow sparked, Will’s eyes flew open and he became impossibly hard. He forgot why he didn’t want this, why he shouldn’t want Hannibal to be fucking him, or Abigail to smile at him sweetly as she ran her hands over his shoulders and bit down hard on his throat as he threw back his head in orgasm. 

No, Will thought wildly as he came back down. Abigail was a young girl and the beloved child he’d never had. She shouldn’t be with him like this, still smiling brightly even as she winced a little when he softened and slipped out of her. “Thank you,” she murmured. “That was wonderful.”

And Hannibal. Hannibal had delved so deeply into Will’s existence that he doubted he could ever be free of him. Will didn’t want to be. The man was a friend, perhaps the closest to a real companion he’d ever he had, his confidant and work partner. 

Will was fading away, but fought to muster enough strength to groan, “Why? Why are you doing this to me?” His face was wet, and belatedly, Will realized that he was crying.

Hannibal smiled with the barest movement of his thin mouth, hovering over Will’s parted lips. “We’re showing you our love, Will. You’re an important part of our family.” He might have completed the kiss, but at that moment Will blacked out. 

The next time Will blearily opened his eyes, Hannibal was holding him up in a drooping standing position, arms loose at his sides, rocking into him, and Abigail was on her knees, tonguing him with unpracticed eagerness. Will shook with the need to come, but Hannibal had a tight hand around the base of his cock.

It went on and on. Will couldn’t keep track of how long Hannibal fucked him, how many times Abigail sucked him off; he could only feel how sore his nipples and cock were, the countless bruises the both of them had inflicted on him, the agony in his ass, the swollen redness of his mouth.

Will started awake, so exhausted he could not rise from bed, soaked through in sweat and covered in come. Though he still felt ghostly touches on his body, nothing was physically wrong with him. 

He was losing his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hannibal's perspective on things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I’m going to mess with season 1-3 timelines in this chapter. You’ve been warned. Also, the usual terrible stuff you shouldn’t be reading. That too.

Hannibal Lecter had been immediately interested in the profile of Dr. Will Graham: a man in his middle thirties, somewhere on the spectrum of autism and Asperger’s, considered too “unstable” to be officially on the force. 

Indeed, Will was a kindred spirit, a man gifted with extreme empathy, able to understand the minds of psychopaths—not an exact replica of the elegant killer he himself was, but something very special.

Hannibal hadn’t thought seriously of intercourse for the whole of his adult life. Sexual relations could lead to complications, and he’d found that the subtle ironies he wove around his murders and the police were intellectually arousing enough for him not to want to bother about physical release.

However, it was amusing to fuck Alana Bloom, if only to fuck with Will. To know Will desired Alana, but that Hannibal was the one Alana had turned to because she too considered Will too unstable for a relationship, was immensely satisfying. He would have chuckled at the sheer oddity of it all, if Hannibal ever outright laughed.

Alana was soft, pliant, soothing like lotion to skin, but Hannibal didn’t care for her commonplace mind. He needed a profound psychological connection in order to experience genuine desire. 

Hannibal had no qualms regarding his proclivities to slaughter pigs, and neither did he harbor illusions that he wasn’t a monster in the eyes of the world. He had no friends he’d wanted to keep, not before Will Graham. 

Just as he appreciated the beauties of Will’s mind, he also saw its fragility. Emotional intimacy was an area in which Will felt unsure, unpracticed, and therefore, incredibly uneasy. Through his fears alone Hannibal could likely manipulate Will to fall prey to his own dread of the darkness inside him. 

But first, Hannibal wanted to see how far Will could be pushed. On the one hand, Jack Crawford was pulling him back into the field. On the other, Alana was telling Will that she wouldn’t have him because of an essential makeup of his personality. And then there was Hannibal, his friend, the final factor to take away Will’s control over his own life by creating a hell in his mind.

Hannibal couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so aroused; the situation was so unbearably delicious to his eclectic palate. 

The last time he’d had Will in his office two weeks ago, the other man had come out of furtive guilt, obviously agonized over his own assumed delusions, and determined to act normally in the face of his fears. 

“I don’t find you that interesting,” Will had said to him. Hannibal had smiled, saying only, “You will.”

Voice smooth and quiet, Hannibal told Will exactly what he was going to do to him, in precise terms, and then he executed what he’d said. He’d backed a panicked Will onto his desk, laid a hand on the man’s jean-covered crotch, unzipped him, and then and proceeded to jerk him off, speaking all the while, telling Will what he looked like, how Will felt under him. 

Then he stopped talking, and Will woke up leaning against a shelf, a book sliding from his hands to the carpet.

Wild-eyed, Will had bolted, and hadn’t come since. 

Overcome with the strain of maintain an ordinary façade, Will would likely collapse in some sort of nervous breakdown soon, Hannibal mused. After that …

… he planned to eat Will Graham alive, from the inside out. 

 

PREVIEW, if the story limps on somehow to another chapter

 

“Something … something’s wrong with me,” Will muttered, swaying a little.

Hannibal frowned, and put his palm on Will’s forehead. “I should say so. You feel quite warm.” 

“It’s … hot,” Will whispered, covering his face with his hands. “It’s hot.”

Hannibal steered him toward his bedroom. “Get a good night’s sleep.”

By the next morning when Hannibal came to wake him for breakfast, Will was burning with fever, and in his delirium he kept calling out for his dogs.


End file.
